


we should get jerseys ('cause we make a good team)

by quiddative



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiddative/pseuds/quiddative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: (High School AU) Dean is secretly unbelievably smart (a prodigy, actually) but is afraid that if anyone knew about that it would destroy his reputation at school. Sam thinks it's stupid, but it's Dean, so logic doesn't apply. UNTIL ONE DAY. A new kid is transferred to their school, Castiel Novak. Dean suddenly and inexplicably feels the need to impress this boy and for once in his life, he feels like his intellect might be the answer for something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we should get jerseys ('cause we make a good team)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trickztr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickztr/gifts).



> So, full disclosure, Dean being an idiot genius is something I wanted to write for a long time but never had the motivation to do until now! I really enjoyed writing your prompt, [killer_quinn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/killer_quinn), and hope you don’t mind that I veered a little from it, though I did (I hope) make up for it with fluff! I really wanted to include some of your kinks but school and time proved to be more threatening nemeses than I expected. Still, I hope you enjoy it!

“Dean, may I have a word with you for a minute?” asked Shurley.

Dean turned around, ignoring the snickers and whispers from his classmates as they filed out of the room, no doubt wondering how badly he screwed up this time to incur a personal talking to from their normally soft-spoken, mousy English teacher. “Sure,” he said, walking up to Shurley’s desk.

Shurley opened one of the drawers and took out a familiar looking title page of an essay—an essay that Shurley assigned a month ago and the due date of which was just last week. Dean blinked when he read it, “The Ascension of the Victorian Woman: The Round Table’s Dependence on Feminine Purity,” and realized with a start that it was _his_ essay. “Dean, I’ve been teaching at this school for five years and I can honestly say that this is the best essay I’ve ever read.” There was a small, almost shy ‘B+’ written in dark blue ink on the top right corner of the page. “Except for the conclusion.”

Dean gave a casual shrug. “I don’t know what you want me to do about it,” he said, even though he knew exactly what Shurley was talking about.

“I mean, your essay felt… _unfinished_. It had some very great ideas in it, almost college-level even, but it ended rather abruptly, like there’s a whole paragraph missing.”

Dean flashed his best harmless, ‘hello, I am a blundering idiot’ grin. The paragraph that Shurley was referring to was currently lying in pieces at the bottom of the garbage bin in his room. While everyone else in the class had groaned and even sworn when Shurley assigned _Idylls of the King_ as the essay topic, Dean was already mentally drafting an outline. He cursed himself now for getting so caught up with the essay that, when he looked over it the night before and realized with a sinking feeling that it was more than likely going to earn him an ‘A,’ it had been too late for him to try to change it and make it sound less intelligent. The only option he had was to get rid of the conclusion entirely, which was exactly what he did. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Shurley, I did the best I could,” he said, trying his best to look like he didn’t care. If Shurley tried to bump his mark up, he might actually hit something.

Shurley looked at him calculatingly for a moment before he sighed, shook his head, and returned the essay back into the drawer. “I see. Well, I just wanted to let you know in case you wanted to do something about that before I hand the papers back.” He looked at Dean expectantly but when Dean said nothing he sighed again. “All right, I guess that’s all then.”

*

Dean wasn’t an idiot.

A few years ago, the summer before Dean’s freshman year, Sam begged him to take an IQ test. “You’re a smart person, Dean,” said Sam, “even if you don’t think you are. That’s why I want you to see it for yourself.” So, after weeks of whining and even bribery, Dean finally made an appointment at the centre Sam had Googled and took the goddamned test.

He scored a 146.

The doctor who oversaw his test gave him a business card afterwards, encouraging him to make an appointment with him as soon as possible, and some high school brochures that offered the gifted program. Dean accepted them with a bashful smile. As soon he was out the door he tossed them into the nearest garbage can. It was safe to say that Sam had been _livid_ for days.

So yeah, Dean knew he was smart—and _damned_ smart at that—but that didn’t mean he wanted to go around parading that fact. He already had his whole life planned out by the time he hit the eighth grade. As soon as he finished high school, he was going to start working for his dad full-time in the pest control business. It wasn’t glamorous, sure, but it paid the bills. He didn’t need to be on some stupid Honor’s List or have a fancy shmancy college degree for that.

And he definitely didn’t need to have a giant bullseye with neon words on top reading “NERD ALERT” pinned to the back of his head, especially not for the next four years of his life.

“I’m just saying that you should keep your options open,” said Sam once during Dean’s junior year. It was probably the billionth time they had this conversation since he took that stupid IQ test. “I mean, there’s nothing _wrong_ with the family business but it isn’t the only thing in the world. Don’t you want to see what else is out there? What else there is besides Lawrence?”

“No,” said Dean emphatically. “Look, Sammy, I know you want to see the world and all that but I’m perfectly fine with staying right where I am. Dad needs at least one of us to help out with the business, especially when he retires. If you’re not happy with that then that’s your problem.”

Sam made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a cross between a gurgle and a scream. It stopped being entertaining after the third time Sam ambushed him with college brochures. “Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up, “see if I care if your life goes nowhere!” If Dean’s memory served correctly, there was at least one door that got slammed that day.

Sam came down later that evening to mumble an apology, even though he was still adamant that Dean should at least apply to college, regardless of whether or not he ended up going. Dean could admit that he was a pathetic pushover of a big brother but he was definitely putting his foot down about that particular subject. “Not gonna happen, Sammy. Besides, doesn’t it cost like, fifty bucks or something to take the SATs and then another hundred send them off to the schools? Each? Why the hell would I wanna do that if I know I’m not going to college anyway?”

“I was adopted,” said Sam, sulking. “Dad must have found me under a bridge or something because there’s no way I can be related to you.”

“And that’s why you’re the one going to college instead of me,” said Dean gleefully.

He thought about his mom, how she continued taking online classes at KU even after she had Dean and Sam, how the scent of apple pie always seemed to linger around her like children’s fingers, how soft her voice was whenever she sang “Hey Jude” while cooking in the kitchen, and how she packed up her bags one night and just walked out the door while a four year old Dean watched from his bedroom window. He quickly and violently pushed those memories away to resume their place in the back of his mind.

*

It was on an unusually warm afternoon in the October of Dean’s senior year when his life took a sudden 180° (because if it were actually a 360° then he’d just end back right where he started and Dean always hated idioms that made no fucking sense whatsoever), careening out of his control in the form of a new student called Castiel O’Donnell.

After napping his way through second period break and the first ten minutes of lunch, Dean was just turning left on the corner of the hallway towards the cafeteria when he heard the sound of something heavy being slammed against a locker followed by a pained grunt in the opposite direction. He paused and looked around the empty hallway, realizing with a sinking feeling that there was no one else.

He tried not to make it a habit to be a hero, especially not since sophomore year when he stood up against a senior who was bullying a junior in one of the AP classes to do his homework for him and wound up getting suspended for two weeks. The senior got off scot free—thanks to good ole nepotism—and the junior acted like he had never seen Dean before in his life when he came back to school. Granted, Dean didn’t do it because he was looking for a pat on the back or anything, but some acknowledgement or even a “thanks” would’ve been nice.

Ever since then, Dean had been trying to stay under the radar, mind his own business, and come out of high school as unscathed as anyone could be. _It’s none of my business_ , he told himself as he took another step forward in the direction of the cafeteria, _I should just ignore it_. But when he tried to lift his other foot he found himself stuck, like his shoes had been superglued to the floor.

Goddammit, he never denied that he was secretly a softie.

“Fuck my life,” he groaned as he turned around and started running.

The hallway turned a corner and led him to a dead end. When he got there, he found two juniors from the football team cornering another boy against the lockers. “I’m only gonna say this one more time,” said Thing #1, “give us the answers or your face is going to end up looking like the back of a pickup truck.”

Dean couldn’t see the boy that well from where he was standing, but he definitely heard a growly voice reply sarcastically, “Yes, go ahead and beat the new student to a pulp. I’m sure that’ll _hardly_ affect your record at all.”

“Hey,” Dean called out, “what the hell is going on here?”

The juniors suddenly whipped their heads up, at first looking annoyed but then afraid when they recognized Dean. If there was one good thing about his fight with the senior two years ago, it was that it gave him the reputation as the Boogie Man of Lawrence High School. Only the truly dumb ever tried to fuck with him and they always got their asses handed back to them in full. Being the son of an ex-Marine had its perks.

“N-Nothing, we were just leaving,” said Thing #2. The juniors almost fell over themselves as they rushed past Dean, trying to put as much space as they could between him and them. It warmed the cockles of his heart to know that he could still strike terror into the hearts of the younger students without even really trying.

Dean turned back to the boy and walked over to help him pick up his fallen backpack and a couple books that were strewn on the floor. “Hey, need some help there?” He bent down and reached for a notebook, surprised when his hand got slapped away by a paler one.

“I’m fine, thank you,” said the boy curtly. He looked up at Dean, his face unnervingly solemn. He had dark brown hair that Dean had originally mistaken for black and big blue eyes. He was only half a foot shorter than Dean and looked small, almost drowning underneath a pair of black slacks, a white button-up shirt, and a grey sweater vest that had to be at least one size too big for him.

Now, Dean didn’t normally go for guys but he knew he was at least a 2 on the Kinsey Scale. This boy wasn’t even the type of guy that he normally went for but he was definitely cute. He was surprised he didn’t recognize him—he’d definitely have remembered seeing him before today. “I appreciate what you did for me but your help is no longer needed. I can take it from here,” said the boy, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Whoa, hold on there, I just wanted to makes sure you were all right, that they didn’t hurt you too badly or anything.” Dean trailed off when he noticed a familiar looking book cover staring up at him from the ground. “Hey, you’re reading _Slaughterhouse-Five_? It’s my favourite Vonnegut book.”

The boy blinked at him, looking surprised. But the surprise vanished quickly, replaced by irritation. “I bet it’s the only Vonnegut book you know, too,” he murmured, swiping the book off the ground before Dean could pick it up. He stood up and went down the hall in quick strides, disappearing in the corner before Dean could respond.

Dean could only stand there, stunned, as the bell signalling the end of lunch rang.

*

“…and then he just _walked away_ , like I wasn’t standing _right there_ after saving his ass from Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee.” Dean stabbed the meatball with probably more viciousness than it deserved, but after missing lunch yesterday _and_ being late for class when he went to get a snack from the vending machines after helping out that jerk, he thought he deserved to be a little angry.

Jo sat across from him, watching him in amusement as he violently twisted the meatball in his spaghetti, leaving a circular trail of tomato sauce behind. “Who was this again?” she asked in that annoyingly calm tone she inherited from her mother.

“I don’t know,” admitted Dean, irritated. “I’d never seen him before until yesterday. But really, who the fuck cares? Fuck, just thinking about it makes me so mad…”

“No, really?” said Jo. “I would _never_ have guessed from the destruction you’re wreaking on your lunch.”

Jo was the younger sister that Dean was glad he never had. One annoying little shit of a sibling was enough for him, thanks. Jo’s dad was one of John’s Marine buddies who also happened to live in Lawrence. Jo was a baby when Dean’s parents took him and Sam to the Harvelles’ for a playdate and they’d been friends ever since. They even sent Sam and Jo to the same kindergarten. There was a picture somewhere in the house of Sam and Jo sharing their first kiss together after some goading on their respective mothers’ part.

Unlike Sam, who was currently going to a fancy private high school, Jo, like Dean, ended up at Lawrence High School after finishing the eighth grade.

She also seemed to have joined Sam’s ‘Get Dean to College’ campaign and hadn’t stopped bugging the hell out of him about it since she walked through the school’s doors less than two months ago. “Just chill out, dude. I thought you wanted to keep your geniusness on the down low,” she said sarcastically.

“‘Geniusness’ isn’t a word and you could’ve just said ‘genius’ instead,” muttered Dean.

Jo smirked. “See what I mean?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Dean would never admit it in a thousand years, but Jo did have a point. Dean stopped caring whenever he passed by the teachers and heard them mutter under their breaths using words like “juvenile delinquent” (even though that was both unfair and blatantly _untrue_ ) in the same sentence as “dropout” as long as they left him alone. The same applied to his _esteemed_ classmates (Principal Adler’s words) but there was something about the boy from yesterday that rubbed him the wrong way, and not the sexy kind of wrong either.

The way the other boy just took one look at him and decided, without knowing anything about him _at all_ , that he _must_ have been an idiot annoyed Dean a lot more than he thought he would be. Sure, his classmates weren’t that much different, but these were the people he _wanted_ to think that he didn’t have a brain. For some reason, he wanted—no, _needed_ this absolute stranger to know that he was more than what he looked like.

“Hey Dean, did you say that this guy had short dark brown hair?”

Dean instantly whipped his head up and scanned the cafeteria. “Yeah, why?”

“Because I think he’s sitting two tables behind you.”

Dean craned his neck over his shoulder and saw, as Jo promised, the mysterious boy sitting by himself a couple tables down from them, his eyes never leaving the book in his hand as he ate his lunch. “You know him, Jo?”

“No, but I heard that he started classes a week ago, something about his dad transferring jobs or something.” Jo shrugged. “His name’s really weird, Castiel O’Something, and he’s a senior like you. Anyway, he hasn’t exactly been talkative to anyone since he got here. All he does is read and—hey!”

Dean suddenly pushed out of his chair and started walking towards _Castiel_. He ignored Jo’s attempts to get him back to his seat—he was going to make this kid eat his words and he was going to enjoy it. He reached his table and slammed his hand down in front of him.

Castiel looked up from his book—it was _The Count of Monte Cristo_ this time—unimpressed. “Can I help you?”

Dean wanted to throttle him. “ _Cat’s Cradle_ ,” he started, “ _Breakfast of Champions_ , _Jailbird_ , _Hocus Pocus_ , _The Sirens of Titan_. I could go on and even list his short stories but then we’d be stuck here all day.”

Castiel blinked, looking just as confused as some of the other students who’d stopped eating to stare. Then his lips curled into a smirk that Dean really, really wanted to wipe off. He still couldn’t decide whether he wanted to do so with his fist or lips. “So you know how to use Wikipedia, good for you.”

Dean stuttered, “That wasn’t—I already knew all that!” He leaned forward until there was only a couple inches separating their faces.

Castiel’s poker face never wavered, not even a little twitch. “Of course you did,” he said, his voice infuriatingly patronizing.

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?”

They both looked up and found Principal Adler standing at the edge of the table, his hands folded behind his back and his eyes glaring at Dean like he was an insect who had the gall to end up beneath his Oxford shoes. “Mr. O’Donnell, is Mr. Winchester bothering you?” he asked in that slimy voice of his that automatically made Dean hate him when he gave Dean and John a tour of the school. Adler alone almost made Dean decide against going to Lawrence High School, but the fact that it was close to Bishop Seabury Academy, the private school that Sam went to, won out in the end.

“No,” said Dean emphatically before Castiel could answer. “I just wanted to ask him a question about his book.” He straightened up and started walking back to Jo, who was looking at him with an expression that was identical to her mother’s whenever she was exasperated by her husband or one or all of the Winchester men.

He couldn’t get the image of Castiel smirking at him out of his head for the rest of the day.

*

Dean’s mood worsened when he and Sam got back home to find John’s voice floating from the kitchen. “…yeah, I think I can hear them, hold on.” He popped his head out with the receiver clutched against his ear. “Your mom’s on the phone,” he mouthed.

A large grin appeared on Sam’s face as he dropped his backpack on the floor and rushed to grab the receiver, ignoring John’s fond chuckle. “Hi, Mom,” he breathed, “I’m good, how are you?”

Dean frowned and made his way up the stairs, ignoring his dad’s quiet gaze.

He had been sitting in his room working on his Physics homework for twenty minutes when he heard a tentative knock against his door. “Yeah?” he called out, pulling his headphones off.

Sam opened the door, holding up the receiver in one hand and covering the mouthpiece with the other. “Mom’s gonna give a guest lecture at the Sorbonne during Spring Break,” he whispered, practically thrumming in excitement. “And she wants to know if we wanna go with her.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” said Dean, making a big show of going back to his homework even though his pencil laid still beside him.

Sam pouted. “But Dean, this is the _Sorbonne_ —in _Paris_. The whole thing will be paid for by the university—”

“I said I’ll pass,” repeated Dean, letting a bit of his anger from the day seep into his voice. He never liked yelling at Sam but he was willing to be the Intimidating Older Brother if he had to.

Even though it stopped working on Sam when he was nine and discovered the lethal power of the Puppy Eyes. “Well, she wants to talk to you anyway.”

Dean shook his head. “Sorry, got a lot of work to do. Tell her I said ‘hi.’”

Sam frowned and stood at the doorway for a few more seconds in uncertainty before eventually heading back downstairs. As Sam closed the door, Dean could hear snippets of his conversation with Mary. “Sorry, Mom, but Dean’s pretty swamped right now. He says ‘hi,’ though…”

Dean snorted and put his headphones back on, turning “Enter Sandman” up to max volume.

*

For the next couple of weeks, Dean saw Castiel everywhere. He knew from the rumor mill that Castiel was taking five AP courses: World History, US History, English, Calculus, and Bio.

Show off.

Dean, of course, wasn’t in any of the AP classes. He was in World History, English, Physics, and Gym, and had a half credit for Band. To Shurley’s credit, he fervently tried to get Dean to take his AP class after he accidentally handed in a stellar paper all the way back in his sophomore year and is still trying even now. No dice, though.

If it were anyone else, Dean was sure he would’ve been able to dismiss him as easily as he did the peons he called classmates, but Castiel was just…different. His very presence seemed to demand attention and, well, if anything he certainly got it from Dean regardless of whether or not _Dean_ wanted to give it to him. It would’ve been much easier to ignore him if his messy hair didn’t always look like it was just begging him to tangle in his fingers and drag him in for a bruising kiss.

So yeah, Dean was well aware that he had a crush on the other boy, even though there was really no reason for it. Still, that didn’t mean he had to be mature about it.

Unfortunately or not—depending on your opinion—Castiel’s locker was right across from Dean’s and it was inevitable that they would bump into each other at least once a day. “And there goes dickhead,” said Dean, watching Castiel take out his books and head towards second period. He was wearing a long-sleeved sweater with brown elbow patches this time because _of fucking course_ he would be one of those nerdy posh type. “If Adler weren’t looking for an excuse to kick me out, I’d wipe that smirk off his face in a second.”

Jo looked up from her phone and arched an eyebrow at him. She was used to his tirades by now and probably figured out that he had a crush before he did. “I hope you realize how much restraint it’s taking for me to not take a cheap shot at what you just said.”

Dean slammed his locker shut and started walking towards his class. “Hey,” Jo called out from behind him. “I found something that I think might be relevant to your interests.”

Dean turned around and watched, confused, as Jo caught up to him and held up one of the red flyers that started popping up all over the school last week. It read “Annual Great Plains Math League” at the top and “Friday October 28th at 12pm” at the bottom with a picture of a creepy smiling anthropomorphic calculator in the middle. “Yeah, so?”

“ _So_ , I saw Castiel looking at it pretty intently the other day. I think he’s going to enter.”

“And you think I should, too?”

Jo shrugged. “What could it hurt? They always post the results by the counselor’s office so it’ll give him something to think about if he saw your name up there, don’t you think?”

Dean looked down at the flyer, considering. “Huh,” was all he said, even though he knew he was going to follow through with Jo’s suggestion anyway.

Jo rolled her eyes. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

*

The day of the contest came and more than one student, especially the seniors, did a double take when they saw that Dean Winchester was in their midst. Even Mr. Turner, the International Business teacher who was supervising it, looked surprise and a little suspicious when he saw Dean shuffle into the classroom along with the other students.

As luck would have it, Dean ended up sitting next to Castiel. Castiel looked him up and down, unimpressed as usual, and said nothing. Dean replied with a wide shit-eating grin because while he may be a genius, he wasn’t above acting like a five year old.

“Are we all set?” Turner barked, drawing everyone’s eyes to where he was standing at the front of the room with a stack of the tests on the table next to him. There was a low murmur of assent. “Good, before I pass these out I’m going to list the rules. No talking, no asking your neighbor to borrow a pencil and/or eraser _during_ the test—so you better ask for ‘em now while you still can—no washroom breaks, no leaving if you finish early, and most important of all, _no cheating_. You have five minutes before you start. Use your time wisely.”

In the end, it took Dean exactly one hour out of the seventy-five minutes they had to finish it. When he was done, he turned the sheet over and stretched, smirking when he caught Castiel glaring at him, still bent over his test. Dean winked and Castiel huffed in response, pointedly returning his attention back to the test.

The results weren’t posted until two weeks later. Dean had barely stepped out of class when Jo grabbed his arm and started pulling him towards the counselor’s office. “Whoa, what’s the rush?” he called out, just barely able to keep himself upright as Jo raced down the hall through the sea of students.

“You _have_ to see this,” she said, grinning.

When they reached the counselor’s office, they saw a small crowd had already gathered around the red sheet of paper tacked on the board outside of it. He spotted the top of Castiel’s perpetually messy hair peeking out from somewhere near the front.

Jo pushed Dean forward until they were all the way at the front as well. “Look, look,” she said, pointing gleefully at the top of the list. “Dean, it’s you!”

Dean’s eyes widened when he saw that his name at the top of the list in Times New Roman, right beside #1. “You’re Dean Winchester,” said a familiar gravelly voice beside him, sounding surprised. He turned to find Castiel staring up at him as if he were seeing him for the first time.

Dean may or may not have preened a little. He placed his hands on his hips and smirked. “Yeah, what about it?”

He had never actually seen Castiel blush before and boy, was it obvious. The other boy suddenly ducked his head and pushed his way out of the crowd.

“Hah,” said Jo, folding her arms over her chest. “You sure showed him.”

After all the fantasies Dean had about this moment, which included laughing maniacally in triumph with lightning in the background and/or Castiel throwing himself into Dean’s arms, the actual event was depressingly anti-climatic. Of all the ways he expected Castiel to react, he never expected _that_.

*

Dean was in the library the next day when he felt a hand tap his shoulder. He turned around, surprised to find Castiel standing behind him holding a couple of books against his chest like a shield. He looked a little different, somehow. His back was curled forward a little like he was trying to make himself as small as possible, not ramrod straight like it usually was every time Dean saw him, and the cool, blank slate that was his face had been replaced by guilt and shyness. It weirded him but at the same time Dean couldn’t help but find it endearing and cute.

“Um, hi?” he tried. Smooth, Winchester, smooth.

“I want to say I’m sorry,” Castiel blurted out in one breath, so quickly that Dean almost missed it entirely. It sounded like forcing the words out had been a painful process for him. Dean imagined that Castiel wasn’t used to apologizing. “I assumed, due to your incredible build and colloquial English—which I now realize are highly irrelevant—that you are more intelligent than you appear. My behavior to you last month was atrocious.”

Dean wasn’t used to hearing people besides Sam say words he’d only ever encountered in books. It was a weird, though gratifying experience. He blinked. “Wait, ‘incredible build?’” Obviously, Dean was a person with his priorities straight.

Castiel blushed and looked away, clutching his books tighter to his chest. “No—I mean, you obviously have an athletic body but—” His blush, if it were even possible, grew redder. “Never mind, I hope you accept my apology and pretend that the rest of this conversation never happened.”

Once again, before Dean could even get a word out edgewise, Castiel had already disappeared around a corner.

When Dean relayed the story to Jo and Sam, who had been getting the juicy details from Jo since Dean absolutely refused to gossip with his _own brother_ , they actually fell from the couch onto the floor of the Winchesters’ living room from laughing so hard.

“Oh god,” said Jo, wiping away a tear from her eye. “This is so much better than that stupid doctor show you love so much.”

“ _Dr. Sexy M.D._ is a great show,” Dean muttered, blushing.

“So what’re you gonna do now?” asked Sam, smiling cheekily. “Are you gonna ask him out? Is he gonna be your booooyfriend?”

 _I sure hope so_ , Dean found himself thinking as what must have been a cheesy smile spread across his face. Neither Jo nor Sam stopped making fun of him until it was time for Jo to head home.

*

The problem with asking Castiel out was he seemed to have made it his mission to avoid Dean as much as possible since the incident at the library. As soon as Dean caught sight of him in the halls, Castiel turned right around and booked it in the opposite direction before he could so much as say ‘hi.’ It was frustrating, but Dean could be patient. Or really, he wasn’t above waiting by the washroom near his and Castiel’s lockers at the end of school until Castiel showed up.

It wasn’t Dean’s proudest moment and he made a mental note to make sure Castiel never _ever_ found out about it. That is, if he and Castiel ever became a thing.

As he expected, Castiel arrived at his locker at three-forty, thirty minutes after school officially ended. The best part was the hall was practically empty save for a couple of students lingering by the doors.

Dean waited until Castiel had just opened his locker before he sidled up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. Castiel turned around and his eyes widened in surprise when they landed on him. “Oh,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically high-pitched from nervousness. “Hello, Dean.”

“You think I have a, and I quote, ‘incredible build,’” said Dean, well aware that the smarmy grin on his face was one that he always hated whenever he saw it on other people.

Castiel sighed, defeated. “Yes, I do, and if you want to punch me for it then I suggest doing it now while no one’s around to get it over with—”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you out.”

Castiel blinked, his eyes growing bigger and making him look illegally adorable. “What?”

“I said I wanted to ask you out.” Feeling bolder, Dean leaned forward and rested his arm on the locker beside Castiel’s head, though he made sure that he wasn’t crowding him. “Admit it, you thought I was going to be a dumb, homophobic jock, didn’t you?”

“Well,” said Castiel, licking his dry lips and dropping his shoulders as his body relaxed. “When you put it that way, it does seem like a stupid assumption to make.”

“So,” continued Dean. “I didn’t hear a ‘no.’”

“No, you didn’t.” Castiel’s lips curled into a small smile, like he had a secret. Dean suddenly, desperately wanted to kiss it right out of him. “Let me give you my address.”

*

Their first date was, if Dean could say so himself, pretty fucking perfect.

There was movie playing in a nearby indie theatre that Dean had been eying for a week and when he brought it up as a suggestion to Castiel, Castiel’s eyes lit up and he admitted that he’d been wanting to see it, too. To be honest, if asked about the movie, Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to answer any questions about it. He would, however, be able to recall with perfect clarity the feeling of Castiel’s hand brushing against his whenever they both happened to reach for the popcorn at the same time (spoilers: it wasn’t one hundred percent random on Dean’s part), the small smiles they both shared throughout the movie, and the warmth he felt whenever Castiel’s knee bumped against his.

Afterwards, Dean drove to a nearby Johnny Rockets for dinner. Call him cheesy, but Dean had a special love for fifties and sixties’ styled diners. During their meal, Dean found out that Castiel was from Minnesota and his family moved here when his father got a promotion at work. Castiel was currently making it his mission to go through BBC’s Top 100 Books list, which explained _The Count of Monte Cristo_. “But why Vonnegut?” Dean asked. “I mean, I love him but he’s not exactly…I dunno, posh?”

Castiel laughed and the sound was lovely to Dean’s ears. He decided right then and there that his new mission in life was to make Castiel laugh as much as possible. “No, he’s not on the list, but I saw _Slaughterhouse-Five_ on sale at a used bookstore the other day and I thought that I would check it out after hearing so much about the book.”

“And did you like it?”

“I did, actually, more than I thought I would.”

After that, Dean discovered that Castiel, like him, enjoyed _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ series to a degree that some people might call unhealthy. He, unlike Dean, loved _The Lord of the Ring_ trilogy (the books and the movies), but had never read the _Harry Potter_ books before. After that, they started talking about movies they liked and hated, which eventually turned into a conversation about music. Dean mimicked getting stabbed in the heart when Castiel admitted that he never listened to Led Zeppelin before but promised to give them a try. In return, Dean promised to give Mozart a try once Castiel lent him his collection.

Dean didn’t even realize they had been talking for hours until a waiter politely informed them that the restaurant was closing in five minutes. They looked around, surprised to realize that they were in fact the last ones there. Castiel insisted that he pay for dinner since Dean already paid for the movie tickets and they exited the restaurant giggling like a bunch of little kids.

Dean could honestly say that it was one of the best nights of his life.

He pulled up in front of Castiel’s house in the 1967 black Chevy Impala that he and John had spent the previous summer fixing up. “As cliche as this sounds,” began Castiel, playing with the lock on the door, “I had a really great time tonight.”

“Me too, Cas,” said Dean without thinking.

Castiel tipped his head a little to the right, blinking in confusion. “Cas?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, sorry about that. I just…I have this stupid habit of giving nicknames to everyone. I won’t call you Cas if you don’t want me to.”

Castiel seemed to turn the name over his head, mouthing it silently. “I like it,” he said.

They sat in silence for the next few seconds, both unsure of what to do next. “I better get going,” Castiel eventually said, his voice a whisper, like he was afraid of breaking the spell of the moment.

“Can I walk you to your door?”

Castiel smiled and nodded. “I’d like that.”

They stood on the porch facing each other underneath the lonely lamp hanging above the door. Silence descended upon them again as they shuffled their feet. “We should do this again some time,” said Dean.

“I agree.”

And then, to Dean’s surprise, it was Castiel who made the first move. He stepped forward, hesitantly placing his hands on Dean’s shoulders, and leaned up to press his lips against Dean’s. The spell was broken and Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel, pulling him closer. Castiel came willingly and they kissed for what felt like hours when it must have only been a minute, probably even less than.

Eventually, regrettably, they pulled away, but their eyes remained locked on each other. “Um, I’ll see you on Monday then?” said Dean as he tried to regain his footing. The entire world seemed to have shifted in the time they were kissing and he had no idea what was up and what was down anymore. He kind of liked that feeling.

Castiel smiled, his face flushed. “Yes, definitely.”

*

They got some weird and even dirty looks on the following Monday when they both showed up at school holding hands. Jo punched him on the shoulder in congratulations and introduced herself to Castiel as Dean’s ‘handler.’ Then Dean gave her a noogie.

There were a couple of “faggots” thrown in their way, but Dean threw a few punches of his own, though luckily none of the teachers or Adler had been there to see them. By the time lunch rolled around, it was a well established fact in the whole school that Dean Winchester and Castiel O’Donnell were dating and if anyone had something to say about it, they better make damn sure that Dean wasn’t there to hear it.

As the days came and went, Dean found that he was constantly learning something new about Castiel, and falling more in like—not love, not yet—with him with each new bit of information that he consumed like a starving man. Castiel came from a big family and was home schooled for most of his life. When it was time for Castiel to start middle school, his parents practically threw him into the nearest one they could find with only a “good luck” and a small tupperware full of leftovers from dinner the previous night as lunch.

It didn’t exactly go well for him.

Castiel’s unrefined social skills combined with his more than passing interests in classic literature and math already made it harder for him to make friends, but once it got out that he had been home schooled, his fate was sealed. Castiel assured Dean that he was never physically bullied and never got off with more than a hurtful comment thrown in his face, but Dean knew that being outcasted and bullied, no matter what shape and form, was going to do a number on anyone. Castiel got the brunt of his abuse from the athletes in his old school, who intimidated him more than they actually tried to hurt him.

“I was scared of you when I first met you, actually,” admitted Castiel once in the middle of December, near the end of the semester, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “You reminded me a lot like them—you were strong and good looking and I just assumed that you were one of them.”

Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Cas,” he said, giving him an exaggerated leer that never failed to make Castiel crack up. “I’ll protect you from the big bad jocks.”

Castiel laughed and rested his head against Dean’s shoulder. “My hero,” he said.

In return, Dean told him about how he wanted to carry on the family business once he graduated, how Sam had been bugging him to go to college for the past few years because of that stupid IQ test, and how his mom had left them when he was four and Sam was six months old. She signed Christmas and birthday cards as Mary Campbell now and she was currently a professor at UPenn. Sam visited her about once a month. Mary always reminded Dean in her monthly e-mails that he was welcome to visit her as well, but he declined every time. He didn’t hate his mom exactly, but he wouldn’t know what to say to her if he ever saw her again. He didn’t even know if she would be his mother anymore.

He was terrified of flying anyway.

Castiel was the first person Dean ever felt comfortable enough with to talk about Mary. Not even Sam had been able to pry those words out and he was, arguably and sadly, Dean’s closest friend. As the words Dean had kept locked up for years spilled out, he felt just a little lighter, like the invisible weight he hadn’t even known he was carrying over his shoulders was fading away, little by little. Castiel said nothing as he talked. He simply sat there, watchful as always, and squeezed his hand.

Dean’s good mood lasted until he got back home and heard a soft familiar voice he hadn’t heard in this house for fourteen years. “…you boys really did make this your home, didn’t you?”

Dean dropped his backpack on the floor.

“Yes we did. Just ignore the black mark in the corner,” grunted John, but he sounded polite enough, even happy.

“Well, _I’m_ not the one who’s going to be cleaning it up. What happened there anyway?”

“Sam started a small fire for his science project two years ago.”

“Hey!” said Sam in a loud, booming voice that only promised to grow louder once it dropped completely. “It was an accident and the package totally tricked me.”

“Hello?” Dean called out hesitantly, still rooted in the doorway.

There was a shuffling of feet and the next thing Dean knew, he was enveloped in the arms of a woman he hadn’t see in years, his mother. He froze, unsure of how to respond. A few feet away, John gave him a pointed look. Dean swallowed and brought his hands up to pat Mary awkwardly on the back. “H-Hi, Mom,” he said. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Mary pulled back, but only enough so that she was still touching Dean while putting enough breathing space between them. She was older than she looked in the pictures that Sam sometimes uploaded on Facebook whenever he visited her. There were more wrinkles around her eyes than he remembered her having in his childhood. Her cheeks were sharper, bonier, and her skin had lost some of its youthful blush, but her eyes were as lively as ever.

“Well, Christmas break is coming up soon, isn’t it? And I figured it was high time I came to see my favorite boys.” She smiled at him and stroked his cheek, her eyes drinking him in. “Look at you,” she said, her voice in awe. “Oh Dean, you’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you. And you’re a lot bigger than I thought you were in Sammy’s pictures.”

Dean ducked his head and pulled his shoulders together, shoving one hand in his pocket and rubbing the back of his neck with the other. “Yeah, well,” he said awkwardly, grasping for the right words in a half-finished script. “Um, listen, I have a lot of work to do—you know, with finals coming up, so I’ll just…”

Mary instantly let go, her smile still as wide as ever. “Of course, I’ll see you at dinner then.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean picked up his bag and hurried up the stairs.

*

It was thirty minutes after Dean went up to his room to quietly freak out over Mary’s sudden appearance when a knock came from the door. “Come in,” he said absentmindedly.

Mary opened the door and took a light, careful step over the doorway. Her eyes, which were suspiciously wet under the light, scanned the room, memorizing every detail. “Your room’s changed so much,” she said, her voice wistful. “I barely recognize it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been fourteen years after all,” said Dean without thinking.

An awkward silence fell upon them. Dean pursed his lips; he didn’t deny feeling guilty but he was unwilling to take those words back no matter what. “I know,” said Mary quietly. “Do you mind if I sit on your bed?”

Dean shrugged but remained sitting cross-legged, thus taking up most of the space on his bed. Mary gingerly sat down on the edge beside him, as if afraid of breaking a queen-sized bed with her small frame. Dean looked at his mother and was stunned when he realized that he could look down on her. He was used to years and years of looking up at her, stretching his arms up as high as he could to get her to pick him up. Being taller than Mary now made him feel uncomfortable, like it wasn’t right.

“I missed you, you know. I never stopped thinking about you,” said Mary, picking at the thread of his duvet.

“If you missed me that much, then you shouldn’t have left in the first place,” said Dean, surprised at the venom in his voice. But his mouth seemed to refuse to shut up once he opened his mouth and all he could do was keep going. “If you cared that much about us, why did you wait until now to come visit? Why not earlier? Why did you always have to make Sam and Dad go to you when—”

“Because your friend e-mailed me telling me that you needed to see me,” interrupted Mary.

Dean’s eyes widened. “My friend?” If it wasn’t Sam, then who—“It was Cas, wasn’t it?” he said quietly, looking away and resisting the tears that threatened to spill down his eyes. He and Castiel had only been together for two months but they felt more like two years. Five minutes ago, Dean would have confidently said that he knew everything there was to know about Castiel and that Castiel knew everything there was to know about him. But now, having Castiel betray him like this—he didn’t know what to think. For the first time in a long time, he just wanted to curl beneath his duvet and ignore the world.

“It’s not his fault,” pleaded Mary. She placed her hand, so soft and small compared to Dean’s, on his arm but he none-too-gently pushed it off. “Please, Dean, I just want to talk to you. It’s all I ever wanted since—”

“We have _nothing_ to talk about,” said Dean, raising his voice to almost a shout.

Mary pulled back, her eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. She got up and headed towards the door, closing it quietly behind her.

*

“Dean,” said Castiel’s voice behind him. “You didn’t respond to my text last night, is everything all right?”

Even though Dean knew that Castiel’s bluntness was mostly due to his upbringing and not because he meant to be insulting, he still had to fight to keep his anger from bubbling to the surface. Right now, he just wanted to be as far away from Castiel as possible. “Yeah, sorry about that. My mom just got back.” He turned around, keeping his face carefully blank. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

He could see the realization dawning in Castiel’s eyes, followed by guilt. “Dean, I—”

Dean shouldered past Castiel when he reached for his hand. “Whatever.” He started walking down the hall in a brisk pace, desperate to put as much space as he could between them.

“I only wanted to set things right,” shouted Castiel, his normally blank voice frantic with worry. “I l—I _care_ about you, Dean, and I never wanted to hurt you.”

Several people stopped to stare at them but Dean didn’t care. He paused in his step and turned around to face Castiel, who stared back in open distress. “Well, you sure did a _fantastic_ job on that,” he called back.

The last thing he saw before turning away was Castiel’s eyes on the brink of tears, his face utterly broken.

*

The first few days of Christmas break in the Winchester house were not the greatest. John, Mary, and Sam made it a point to spend as much time together as they could, like they were a family again, but Dean refused to play along. John pulled Dean aside after dinner on Mary’s first night back and explicitly warned him that there would be consequences if he spent the entire break sulking in his room. “I expect you to be down here every morning for breakfast,” he said, glaring at his son. “And if you’re not, I’ll drag you down kicking and screaming if I have to. Oh, and you’re not allowed back in there until at least an hour after dinner.”

Dean folded his arms and looked away, aware that he was acting like a petulant child, and huffed. “Fine,” he muttered.

It obviously wasn’t the answer John was expecting but it was the best he was going to get.

So Dean did as he was told, but he made sure that the rest of the family knew that he wasn’t happy about it. John looked like he wanted to throttle him several times, but a silent look from Mary always stopped him. Meanwhile, Sam started to ignore him, spending all his time asking their mother questions about her travels, about the university, and general geeky things that Dean had a hard time listening to without falling asleep.

 _Happy Holidays_ , Dean said dryly to himself as he downed his mug of eggnog one night while they all sat in the living room after dinner to watch a movie.

*

Dean stumbled downstairs one morning to find both his parents sitting together at the dining table sipping their respective coffee with Sam nowhere in sight. “Where’s Sammy?” he asked.

“He left early to go to a friend’s house,” said John. He gestured to the warm plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of Dean’s designated seat. “Sit down, son, let’s talk.”

Dean shook his head. “Uh, no thanks, I’m not really hungry.” He started making his way to the living room when Mary’s quiet but firm voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Dean,” she said, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Please, we just want to talk.”

Dean folded his arms over his chest and glared at her. “You have nothing to say to me.”

“ _Dean_ ,” said John in that stern voice of his that warned of bad things to come if Dean didn’t listen. “Listen to your mother.”

He reluctantly pulled out his chair and sat down, though he tried to angle it as far away from either of his parents as possible. “Okay, I’m here.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that you got a 146 on an IQ test?” asked Mary suddenly, looking concerned. “That’s _great_ news.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” said Dean, shrinking in his seat.

“Well, it is to us,” said John.

 _That_ got Dean to lift his head up and stare at his parents in surprise. “What?”

“Your friend, Castiel, he told us that the reason you don’t want to go to college is…is me, right?” said Mary. Sadness and guilt didn’t suit her pretty face, Dean decided, even though he refused to feel responsible for it.

“ _Castiel_ should learn to mind his own fucking business.”

John slapped him lightly on the back of his head. “Language,” he hissed.

“I’m sorry,” said Mary suddenly, surprising Dean. “What I did was selfish, I know that, but I didn’t realize how much it would affect you.” She began to play with her curly blonde hair, which Dean remembered was a habit of hers whenever she was worried. “Whether you want to go to college or not is your own decision and I’ll respect your choice no matter what, but I will never be able to forgive myself if, twenty years from now, you look around and realize your future isn’t what you wanted…and I’m the one responsible for that.”

“You aren’t—”

“And I’m sorry, too,” interrupted John, looking down at his mug. Dean whipped his head around to face John. In all his years of existence, he didn’t think he’d ever heard John Winchester apologize to anyone. “I was just as selfish as Mary, maybe even more. I knew, even before I married her, that she wanted more than I could give her.” John shook his head. “No, that’s not true. I _could_ have given her what she wanted, but I was too stubborn to leave Lawrence. And the next thing I knew, I’d lost one of the three best things that ever happened to me.”

Mary gave him a wet smile and reached across the table to rest her hand in John’s bigger calloused one. Dean watched as John smiled back, both of them exchanging the secret language of past lovers. He knew then, with more certainty than he’d ever felt before in his life, that John and Mary still loved each other. It wasn’t the same kind of love they felt for each other fourteen years ago, but it wasn’t necessarily worse. In a way, they seemed happier, more at peace now than they had been back then.

“Thank you,” said Dean quietly.

*

Castiel opened the door, looking surprised when he saw Dean standing on his porch. “Hi,” said Dean shyly.

Castiel gave him a shy smile as he stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him. He was wearing his usual pair of slacks and a dark green sweater with a smiling white reindeer in the middle. He folded his arms together but otherwise he didn’t seem to mind the cold. “Hi.”

“I was a dick,” said Dean. “I overreacted and it was stupid of me and I—”

“Your apology is accepted,” interrupted Castiel, his smile growing more confident. “And I apologize, too. Regardless of my intentions, it was insensitive of me to Google your mother—she has a very insightful page on Wikipedia, by the way—and e-mail her when this was obviously a very intimate matter between the two of you.”

Dean almost couldn’t breathe at the ridiculous amount of affection he felt for Castiel at that moment, and he knew that he would never be able to get used to this incredible feeling. He laughed and pulled Castiel into a kiss, trying to convey everything he felt for the other boy. Castiel, wrapping his arms around Dean, returned it enthusiastically, opening his mouth to let Dean push his tongue in to tangle with his and bump their teeth together.

They finally had to pull apart for air but kept their arms around each other. “Mistletoe,” said Castiel, letting out a soft laugh as he pointed upwards. Dean followed his finger and laughed, too.

“I guess we’ll be here for a while then.”

*

_Two years later…_

The doorbell rang and Dean nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to reach the door. “I got it,” he yelled out.

Sam beat him to it by an inch. “Hey, Cas,” he said as he opened the door, smiling widely at Castiel. “You’re just in time, the turkey’s almost done.”

Dean tried to push him out of the way, but it was almost impossible to do so now when his little brother was dangerously gaining on him in height. Instead, he had to settle for only taking up half the space in the doorway. “Hi,” he said, aware that he had the goofiest smile on his face right now.

Castiel smiled back. “Hello, Dean, Sam. How are you?”

“Getting cold if you don’t close the door already,” said Sam. He dodged Dean’s half-hearted swipe at his shoulder, laughing as he returned to the kitchen to help John out with the food.

“Can I come in?” said Castiel slyly.

“No,” replied Dean as he leaned over to give him a kiss. “Mistletoe,” he teased, motioning his eyes upward.

Castiel laughed, “Nicely done, Winchester.”

He and Dean had their ups and downs like every other couple, especially when Castiel got accepted to Princeton right after graduation and Dean decided to go to Stanford after taking a year off, but Dean counted it as a success that they were able to find themselves here after a little more than two years.

He fingered the small, velvet ring box in his pocket. Only Mary, who was unfortunately stuck in China this year, knew about it. Dean hoped that he would no longer have to keep it a secret by the end of the night. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”


End file.
